Make that twenty-eight

New readers are an opportunity to regurgitate an old post. Hey, it is summer, you should be used to reruns.

This is an old musing from 2006.

Lucky Man

The shoes hurt my feet. I was a bit aggravated. I had to tell one of my buddies he should not be drinking beer in church. He did not see the problem. I told him the Catholics may not mind, but the Methodists had issues with alcohol in the church. I was half irritated because I wanted one of those beers myself.


I had been in an argument with some other people who wanted to mess with my car. Permanent marker does not come off of windows.


The whole thing was becoming a real pain. I cut myself shaving. The photographer annoyed the shit out of me with the stupid poses. Everyone wanted to talk to me tell me this or that, tell me a story or anecdote from their own experience.


I was pissed because I was standing there waiting. I have little patience now. I had less then. Otter was there. So were some other buddies. Finally the ladies came through the doors, things were finally moving.


I could not help smiling when she came through the door at last. She was beautiful: freckles and all. Her hair, her dress, all looked great. My irritation vanished as the organ switched tunes and the audience stood. Even though this all happened twenty-three years ago, I remember many of the details. The minister seemed to drone about the Galatians or some such. We dated six years before we got married, I guess I do have patience when it comes to certain details. At last the deed was done. We were off to the reception and then the best part -- the honeymoon!


Here I sit, twenty-three years later and I remain married. I am short tempered, I find myself incredibly amusing. My hair is graying and maybe even thinning a bit on top, but I really do not care to investigate. Bifocals are on my nose, my gut has grown. I fart a lot. She sports some gray when she does not keep her hair dyed. Her vision is getting bad too. She cannot decide if she needs longer or shorter arms to read a menu. She thinks she is fat. She complains about getting old. I still think she is beautiful and sexy. Some days I look at her and I am filled with desire. I thank God for her every day -- even those when she pisses me off. I suspect I anger her far more than she does me.


I wanted to post a picture from that day, but my scanner is again on the fritz. Trust me, she was the most beautiful woman in the world standing there in the Methodist Church -- June 30, 1984. I am a lucky man.